


A Plied Therapy

by PussNHikingBoots



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drunkenness, Hannibal's guest bedroom, Hannibal's hair, M/M, Therapy, Will's socks, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:45:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PussNHikingBoots/pseuds/PussNHikingBoots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a therapy session, Hannibal plies Will with wine, then offers up his guest bedroom for Will to spend the night. But he won't be leaving him all on his lonesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Plied Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place at the beginning of S2, after Will has been released from prison/asylum.

Will Graham has been back in therapy for a few weeks after his release from prison and Hannibal Lecter is thrilled, though he is expert at keeping a mask of professionalism **.** Graham sits before him now, discussing Alana. How she betrayed him–in more ways than one. They have already gone past their allotted appointment time but the doctor is happy to keep Will here as long as he wants, so he lets him talk. Hannibal stands up and walks over to where he keeps a few bottles of wine in a wooden cupboard, murmuring acknowledgements now and again so that Will knows he is still listening. In truth, he listens to everything Will says. Treasures every word. Replays those words after he's gone. He pours two glasses of a California Merlot and returns to the chairs, handing a glass to Will and setting the bottle in easy reach for refills. "I thought you might like to share a drink with me.” Nonchalant, but inviting.

 

"Sure.” Will takes the glass. He doesn't know one wine from the next but he's happy to infuse his Alana rambling with a little alcohol. Talking about her still makes him nervous. He's not entirely over her, though these days his feelings run more towards anger than romance. Will takes a large gulp of the red wine, savoring it's sting on the way down his throat. Liquid courage. "Isn't it a little uncomfortable for me to be talking to you about Alana since you're the one who's with her now?" 

 

“There is no need to feel uncomfortable.” Hannibal's reply is clinical.

 

“You _are_ still with her, I presume? Or were the last few weeks just a fling?"

 

"I won't pretend to know the answer to that. Maybe she'll be with me tomorrow, maybe she won't."

 

"Don't you at least have a _preference?"_ Will is both irritated and reassured by Hannibal's indifference.

 

"Not particularly, though I do enjoy her company.” Actually, Hannibal's preference is for Will, but he doesn't want to bring _that_ up again.

 

Another hour slips by and they are well into the second bottle, Will having drunk most of both. Hannibal is sipping his slowly and deliberately–savoring it and pacing himself with a careful eye on his patient. Will has been thoughtlessly gulping at the liquid in between sharing his increasingly slurred thoughts. He excuses himself to the restroom and Hannibal observes how he stumbles a bit and has to steady himself with a hand on the back of the chair before proceeding down the hall. He fills Will's glass once again without doing the same to his own.

 

When Will returns, he picks up the glass and his thoughts where he left off. The doctor waits patiently for a natural break in the conversation and says, “I'm afraid I've allowed you to become somewhat inebriated, Will. You cannot drive home like this. You will stay with me tonight, and I'll drive you back to your car in the morning.” He leaves no room for argument but Will realizes he's barely in condition to walk, let alone drive, and doesn't protest. “Do you need to call somebody to look in on your dogs?”

 

“Yeah–I have a guy. He's taken care of them a few times…” Will trails off, his thoughts returning to Alana. She took care of the whole pack while he was in prison. He would be eternally grateful to her for that one thing, even if she _had_ stabbed him in the back for several other things. Hannibal gets up to retrieve Will's cell phone from his jacket pocket and hands it to Will who briefly wonders how he knew where to find it. 

 

Will makes the call and then resumes talking. Usually Hannibal has a lot to say; quotable bits that kindle the professor in Will and give him plenty to ponder, but tonight the doctor lets Will guide the conversation, which has deteriorated considerably. He can see that his patient had gone well past the point of happily buzzed on into the brink of passing out.

 

“It's late. You need sleep, Will.” Hannibal stands and takes the wine glass from Will's hand. There is still some left, but more at this stage would be pointless. He sets the glass aside and walks to the closet to done his coat and bring Will his jacket. He has to help Will to his feet and into the jacket, slipping the phone neatly back into the pocket. He puts one arm around Will's waist, pulls Will's arm around his own shoulders for support, and walks him out to his car.

 

It's a short drive back to Hannibal's house and Will is quiet except for the occasional babble that Hannibal mostly ignores, though he does check to make sure he's holding up okay and not going to be sick in the Bentley. Will leans his forehead against the window and closes his eyes for the duration. When they get to Hannibal's house, the doctor has to again help him inside and off with his jacket. “Do you need to use the toilet, Will?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Hannibal helps Will to the bathroom, lifting the lid and seat for him. "You can do the rest yourself, I hope?”

 

A small giggle, “Yeah.”

 

Hannibal leaves the bathroom to wait outside, but not before dropping his eyes for a split second to where Will has unzipped and is fumbling himself out with one hand while bracing the other hand against the wall to hold himself upright. When he is done, Hannibal leads him to the guest bedroom across the hall. He has to stop Will from falling onto the bed so he can pull the covers down first. “Sit.”

 

Will does as he is told. Hannibal kneels in front of him and slips off Will's shoes, setting them neatly to the side of the night table. “Do you want your socks on and off?”

 

“Off.”

 

Hannibal reaches up Will's pant leg and peels a sock down over his foot. Giggling, Will extends a hand and plucks lightly at Hannibal's gelled hair, undoing it in one spot. Hannibal keeps his head lowered, but raises his eyes and deadpans, “Is there something funny, Will?”

 

"Your hair.”

 

"You think my hair is funny?” he says, bemused.

 

“Yes.”

 

Finishing with the socks, which he bunches one each in the opening of Will's shoes, he rises and goes to work unbuttoning the top button of Will's shirt. There is a moment of silence. "Are you undressing me, Dr. Lecter?”

 

“Only the first few buttons so they don't restrict your breathing. Lay down on your side, facing me.”

 

Will falls sideways and Hannibal helps him lift his legs onto the bed, pulling the covers up over him. “How are you feeling, Will? Do you think you might vomit?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Stay on your side – I will be right back.” Hannibal returns with a circular trashcan pulled from the hall bathroom and sets it on the floor at the head of the bed, making sure Will knows it's there.

 

“The room is spinning,” says Will.

 

"I'm sure it is.” Hannibal presses his lips together and considers the scene before him. "I'm going to stay with you until you are no longer in danger of choking in your sleep.”

 

“Mm,” Will acknowledges almost inaudibly. He is fast slipping into unconsciousness amid images of Alana, her dark hair splayed out on the pillow beside him.

 

Hannibal goes to his own room and quickly changes out of his suit, pulling on pajama bottoms. He usually sleeps with a bare chest, but feels that this situation calls for a little more discretion and pulls on a white T-shirt. He shortcuts his usual fastidious bedtime routine so he can return to the guest bedroom as quickly as possible. Hannibal flips off the light and slips softly into the bed beside Will, who is laying on his side, one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress.

 

Hannibal pulls the covers up and lays on his back in corpse position. He stares at the ceiling. “Are you doing okay, Will? Do you need anything?”

 

Another “mmm,” even less enthusiastic than the first. Will's breathing changes to a sleep pattern and Hannibal listens to him in the dark for a long time before closing his own eyes. Before he can sleep himself, he feels Will roll over onto his back. “No, Will. Roll back onto your side. You have to stay on your side.” He gives him a firm push in that direction. Will murmurs again and rolls the other way instead. His head presses against Hannibal's shoulder, one arm tucked down near his own stomach, the other flopped onto Hannibal's. Immediately, the sleep breathing resumes.

 

Hannibal's pulse quickens just a fraction, his eyes moving around in the dark. Will appears to be well asleep, so after a considerable moment, Hannibal brings a hand up and, in slow motion, proceeds to lace his fingers in Will's until they are fully entangled. Then he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

 

*******

 

The muted light of early morning is upon them and Will's eyes flutter open. It takes him a moment to realize where he is and remember at least the first half of the previous evening. His forehead is pressed up against the warm hard flesh of Hannibal's shoulder, separated only by thin cotton. He can smell the musky odor of the man next to him. It is not unpleasant. 

 

As he becomes more fully awake, it hits him that he's lying in bed next to his psychiatrist. Panicking a little, he does a silent scan of his own body – his shirt and pants are on – the same ones he wore yesterday. Only his socks and shoes are missing. He notes that Hannibal too is wearing at least a T-shirt. He can't see more than that.

 

He is touching Hannibal in exactly three places. Forehead to shoulder, right arm to left arm, and– their hands. Will's left hand is splayed out on Hannibal's stomach over his T-shirt and Hannibal is holding it, fingers intertwined. 

 

Will lifts his head to look at their hands as if he can't fully trust his sense of touch. For a moment, he feels a staggering emotion rush through his body; a jarring mixture of love and possession, both warm and dark. It thrills and scares him. He shakes off the feeling and pulls his hand out from Hannibal's with a small gasp. He sits up and hugs his knees to his chest, staring at the far wall. Hannibal takes a deep breath through his nose and moves slightly, eyes remaining closed. “How are you feeling this morning, Will?”

 

“Hung over”

 

“Stay here. I'll get you something for that.”

 

Hannibal leaves the room for a briefer time than Will would prefer and returns with a glass of water. The glass clinks delicately as Hannibal swirls a long spoon inside. "Vitamin C powder. Helps with detoxification. It is the only thing that actually works for a hangover. If you'd like to take a shower, you can use the bathroom across the hall. There are fresh towels in the linen closet. In about one hour, I'll be making breakfast. I need to lay down a little longer. I was up most of the night" Hannibal reclaims his spot on the bed.

 

“You stayed here all night with me?”

 

“I had to make sure you were safe, Will. I didn't want you to choke. You were quite drunk.”

 

"You could have just propped me up with some pillows."

 

"I wasn't taking any chances. You are my patient, after all. I am responsible for your care."

 

Will blinks. Hesitates. "When I woke up, you were–" His lips work the words out sideways. "Holding my hand."

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did we…? Did you…?"

 

“Ask me what you want to ask me, Will.”

 

“Did anything _happen_ last night?"

 

“Do you want to know if I took advantage of you in your incapacitated state?”

 

“Did you?”

 

“No. Even if I had thought about it, I would not have done so. That would have been gauche.”

 

“But you _thought_ about.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Hannibal. How long…”

 

“Pardon me while I rest awhile longer. There will be plenty of time for discussion over breakfast. I do hope you choose to stay."

 


End file.
